


A Three Course Meal of Love

by sugarrushgay



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, i don't know where this is headed but it's HEADED for sure, i know it could make some ppl uncomfy so i'm tagging it!!, i'm too lazy to tag all the bf people but i'm tagging anyone who's been mentioned so far, it's mostly for social outings and they're having fun it's not unhealthy or dangerous BUT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarrushgay/pseuds/sugarrushgay
Summary: It takes them a while, but eventually they get it.





	1. this feeling's got me weak in the knees

**Author's Note:**

> can you say slowburn? because fuckin slowburn

It was a sunny noon in California, and probably the first one in a long time that Steven and Andrew were eating somewhere without it being for an audience. They can’t remember when it stopped being a shared habit they had to endure for work and just started to melt into their daily lives, but they’ve been eating lunch together almost every day – and most of the time it’s not even for Worth It.

 They’re seated in a cosy sunlit booth, everything red or checkered and welcoming around them, a diner that feels like a second home. Steven’s been commenting on his lunch for over half an hour, an unfortunate habit he’s picked up from the show. Andrew usually hates it when people talk so much around him, but with Steven he somehow forgets he’s a misanthrope.

“-These fries. _Hooooooly_ shit-“ Steven moans around his food – “these fries are like - if god were a huge potato man, a crispy potato man, and these are his fingers. The fry fingers.” Andrew is losing it “No seriously, look Andrew- these are some thick fries! Finger-thick fries. Delicious finger-thick fries,”

“You could say they’re....... finger-thickin,” Andrew smiles at Steven expectantly, and Steven has taken another bite but he shuts his eyes and whips his head away trying to contain his laughter and keep all the food in his mouth. “Get it it’s, it’s finger-lickin’ good, it’s funny because, it’s- it’s-“ Steven swallows his bite prematurely and holds up a hand.

“You’ve made your point, Ilnyckyj, let the joke die, please,” Andrew fakes moping and looks down at his tray.

“Come on, that was a good one,”

“Eh, you could’ve _fried_ harder,” Steven is just holding onto his food, absently licking sauce from his lips while staring at Andrew, waiting for the pun to catch up to him. Andrew’s eyes meet his and there’s a loaded second where they’re just staring, hints of a smile on both their lips. The air grows heavier and Andrew is the first to break the spell.

“Just shut up and eat your burger” he chuckles, hands holding loosely onto his own food, a subtle smile still on his face.

Steven lets a handful of moments pass in which they just eat in pleasant silence before he quips back.

“A man only requests one’s silence when he’s afraid of what they have to say,” he looks oddly self-satisfied as he chews, and Andrew slowly tastes the bite in his own mouth, licking his lips and inhaling dramatically, looking like he wants to strangle Steven in the fondest way.

“Is that Confucius?” Andrew’s voice is deep and characteristically deadpan, dripping in sarcasm.

“Nah, I just made that up.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shoot up and he picks up a short fried potato and throws it at Steven.

“Here, that’s god’s finger-laser shooting at you for being an idiot.” Steven yowls at Andrew, indignant, and laughs.

“Hey! You’re abusing the premise of my analogy!”

Andrew just shrugs, a smirk playing on his mouth.

 

-

 

                Steven’s not big on beer - it’s bitter and there’s no point to it. Steven _is_ big on the way Andrew’s smiles loosen when he drinks beer, and he’s _very_ big on the way Andrew’s lips glisten every time he takes a swig from his bottle and then swipes out his tongue. He doesn’t know why he notices that. Huh. Weird.

                Steven’s more of a cider boy. More of a sweet drinks kind of guy. He’s got a rich coloured drink filling his glass, almost purpling, and Andrew finishes chewing on his bread and holds onto Steven’s drink.

                “Let me taste some of this-“ and they’re way past the threshold of asking for permission to take from each other’s food or drink, and Steven doesn’t even notice because he’s distracted again, but Andrew takes a sip and his eyebrows go through all five stages of grief on their own before settling up high on his forehead. “I swear to god this tastes like halloween candy, Adam have you tried this?” and he extends the glass to Adam who very resolutely shakes his head _No_ – they’re all _very_ aware of how much Steven values sugar.

                Andrew laughs as he sets the glass down and Steven’s looking at him with a dry _“who told you you could drink from my glass_ ” look that he doesn’t mean in the slightest. Andrew’s hands go up in defense and he winks at Steven, and _OH_ that’s _new_ , and Steven reddens and retracts his hand from the back of Andrew’s chair where it was resting so that he can fork a few more bites into his mouth, if only for something to do.

                They’d been shooting for another video but the camera’s been put away, for now, and they’re just enjoying the steady buzz of the other restaurant clients and the dim lighting, and Adam is chewing happily into his own food – you can tell because he’s nodding at no one in particular, staring only at his plate, and the restaurant owner is now at their table saying something to Andrew that Steven is just beginning to pay attention to.

                The man is saying something about the salsa that’s coating the chicken, and Steven curiously notices an uneaten wing in Andrew’s plate and as soon as their conversation seems to be over and Andrew is no longer occupied, Steven’s fork is already on the juicy chicken.

                “i’m gonna have this,” Steven lets out as a statement and not as a request, and Andrew’s expression is a mix of amusement and indignation. Steven eats the chicken wing, glancing with a guilty smile at Andrew, who can only shake his head and drink from his beer.

                “Sure, Steven, you can have that!” Andrew exaggerates before he sips, and Adam unblinkingly grabs the other chicken wing from Andrew’s plate before he can even say anything. Andrew just watches the movement with an incredulous smile. “What is happening?” It comes out in a laugh.

                “Oh sorry, I thought you said ‘Adam’.” Adam’s face is a portrait of innocence but he smiles impishly as he bites into the stolen wing.

 

-

 

                “I’m going to go into a food coma, and they won’t be able to wake me for ten years.” Steven’s voice seems to be coming out laboured, and he rubs his belly and exhales, all dramatics. He’s leaning back in his chair and his arm is once again looped around the back of Andrew’s seat, and it’s been a long night of eating and laughing and Andrew has salad dressing on the tip of his nose. Steven remembers that and giggles again.

                Andrew looks at him and leans back in his chair, his shoulderblade softly resting over Steven’s hand. Steven notes the warmth there, and the gentleness of Andrew’s movement, and he looks away, at the other tables.

                “You know who else went into a food coma?” Andrew’s deadpan is laced with the promise of a punchline, and Steven shakes his head in curiousity. “Snow White. Do you ever realise that? That’s incredible. I just realised this, and we never attribute it to that-“

                “Yeah, Andrew, cuz she was _poisoned_ , oh my god-“

                “Still - food coma.”

                “So you’re saying the cure to a food coma is a kiss from a sweet prince?”

                “I’m a little afraid if a prince kisses you you’ll turn into a toad.”

                “Are you like - saying i’m.. reverse prince charming?” Steven feigns offense, but he’s barely keeping back giggles.

                “I’m saying you’re reverse prince charming,” Andrew’s nodding his head and grinning. Messing with Steven is his favourite pastime. Steven is now gaping through his smile and he reaches with his free hand (the hand not currently trapped behind Andrew’s back) to shove at his shoulder, but it’s all fondness and no bite. Andrew maintains eye contact as he begins to laugh.

                “I’m sorry, I can’t take you serious with that dollop of mayo on your nose-“ and Steven really starts to chuckle now, Andrew cursing under his breath and wiping at his face with a napkin. Steven’s thumb starts to stroke comforting circles into Andrew’s back without conscious thought, and though Andrew’s expression betrays surprise, he melts into the touch and says nothing.

 

-

 

                It’s nearing midnight and Adam and Evan took a cab back to the hotel, hauling equipment and footage back from the bar they’d been in. Steven and Andrew want to take the short walk back, the night warm and their shirts clinging to their skin. Steven’s barely making sense, his sentence a blur of giggles and short breaths before Andrew’s small raspy “ _oh shit_ ” grounds them both. They’d been walking ten minutes in the wrong direction, and Steven stares dumbly ahead for a few seconds when Andrew points that out before pinching the bridge of his nose.

                “I’m.... This is unbelievable,” but he doesn’t sound half-worried, and when he lifts his face again, he’s smiling. “Of course we went in the wrong direction, I was so _sure_ we’d been going in the wrong direction-“

                “Sure you were,” Andrew’s voice is all amusement and teasing. “Let’s just get a cab this time around, I’m a little too worn out to make the walk back again,” Steven assents and they hail a cab, both clambering into the backseat, the necessary shifts in level making them very aware of how much they’d had to drink.

                The ride back is barely ten minutes, but Steven can now feel the drowsiness melting into him and relaxing his muscles now that he’s seated, and he’s already as close as he can be to Andrew without actually being on his lap, so he settles his head against his shoulder and hums a soft note of approval with eyes closed. Andrew just looks at the mop of hair rested on his arm and briefly wonders what would happen if he kissed Steven’s head right now. He doesn’t think it’d be that bad, would it? He almost does it too, smelling Steven’s shampoo, but decides against it. His own head rests back into the car seat and it’s only then that he notices Steven’s palm is lying flat on his thigh,  and the warmth gathered there is impossible. He has no time to psych himself out of it before he places his hand over Steven’s, and the response is almost instantaneous. Steven’s breath catches in his throat and he doesn’t dare open his eyes, but his fingers instantly interlock with Andrew’s.

                They’re no longer holding hands when they get out of the cab, but Andrew bumps his shoulder against Steven’s and smiles. They don’t plan on ever mentioning this.

 

-

 

 


	2. i'm so addicted to the loving that you're feeding me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've noticed the chapter titles are lyrics from mandy moore's candy which is an A1 song and I can't stop laughing at how ironically well it fits and also I'm screaming because I'm not sure about this chapter at all but It's Here and I'm Posting It because i love these boys and I'm just having a lot of emotions anyway enjoy this mess

Steven’s letting the sunlight douse over him, one leg out from under the covers and still vaguely asleep. He can smell the pancakes someone’s making in their suite kitchen (thank you buzzfeed travel budget), and barely registers what sounds like Adam’s voice saying _“don’t wake him for the pancakes, more for me”_ . In Steven’s cosy half-asleep world he smiles and tries to go back to the dream he’d been having. He can no longer remember what it was about but - there was something about sunlight glowing auburn through golden hair and a comfortable warmth weighing on his heart.

Steven’s holding onto what little he can from his uncharacteristically good night’s sleep when there’s the soft pit-pat of bare feet on marble tiles and the bed right next to him dips carefully. The smell of pancakes is even more pronounced now, and there’s something else too – something like sandalwood and oranges, something like –

“are you gonna sleep through the entire day or what?”  _Andrew_. The end of his sentence is capped off with a chuckle and his voice is gruff and low, that early morning freshly woken kind of rumble. Steven is only just allowing his eyes to flutter open, uncertain this isn’t another dream. He hears more than he sees a fork scraping against a plate, and Andrew is sitting right there, next to him, holding up a forkful of pancake. “Hi sleepyhead,” he smiles and the sunlight is all over his face, making his hair glow auburn and. _Wait a minute_ , his dream-

Steven sits up too fast, shaken by his thoughts, but his chest feels indescribably warm and he can only respond with a smile. He hums a satisfied note instead of good morning and Andrew wordlessly feeds him that first bite of pancake. Steven’s mouth closes very slowly around the fork, and Andrew holds eye contact for a heated second.

“I thought this would wake you up,” his breath smells like coffee and maple syrup, and he’s not looking at Steven, not at his eyes at least, while he tentatively pulls the fork back. The pancake keeps on coming, and Steven is chewing, a mix of content and confused.

“You know I can.. feed myself, right?” Steven swallows and his voice is so much lower than he’s used to from sleep.

“Can you, though?” Andrew grins that shit-eating grin he’s always got when he’s making a dig at Steven, and Steven resists throwing him a pillow or pushing him off the bed or _something_. He’d get maple syrup all over and he knows that’d be a bitch to clean off. But now he’s thinking of Andrew with maple syrup all over his lips and hands and chest and, _oh_ , that’s not... horrible? Steven can’t breathe. “ _Ooookay_ , why are you staring at me like that?” Andrew’s voice brings him out of his thoughts and Steven slowly realises he _had_ been staring at him, probably rather darkly. Andrew’s chuckling though, feeding himself some pancake – _Steven’s pancake_ – and –

“Hey, that’s my breakfast!” Steven’s thoughts are still in a buzz and he reaches for the plate protectively, Andrew chuckling while holding it out of reach and chewing, syrup coating his lips. Steven laughs but he can’t stop staring, and Andrew keeps looking into his eyes as he takes another illicit bite.

Andrew is stretched uncomfortably to keep the plate from Steven, and Steven’s arms are almost wrapped around Andrew’s chest in his attempt to get to breakfast. Andrew scrapes up another bite and turns minutely to feed Steven. Their faces are impossibly close, and their breathing instantly changes – and Andrew has to hold back a nervous gulp. Steven’s searching his eyes and freaking out just barely, but Andrew holds the fork against his bottom lip and whispers.

“ _Here_ ,” the fork is pressing onto Steven’s lips, and he moves to open them but everything feels so much slower now. Andrew’s staring at him, still so close, eyes flicking downwards to his lips for the briefest of moments. Steven thinks he’s having a stroke, maybe, and finds a sliver of piece in relishing how good the pancake tastes, and _wow, did Andrew make these_? And he hadn’t realised he’d asked that aloud, mouth still full of pancake. Andrew huffs out a startled laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” he shrugs, but his pink cheeks betray sheepishness. Steven’s eyes widen and his lips form an excited smile as he chews.

“-‘s really good, Andrew,” he nods and Andrew watches his face with an intense fondness. Disarmingly intense. He clears his throat and looks away, standing up fast.

“You should, uh – probably have this in the kitchen. It’s. not a good idea to get maple syrup all over your bed, uh, yeah.”

And then he’s walked out of the room and Steven is absently nodding his assent but all he can think about is Andrew with maple syrup all over his lips and hands and chest rolling on top of him in _his bed_ here and he just wants to shut his eyes and pretend this is all a very wicked dream, just a stupid, no good, incomprehensible dream.

 Steven lets out a frustrated groan and flops back into his pillow. The warmth spreading from his heart to the rest of him refuses to let up, and Steven wants to throw Andrew out of the fifth story window or something. _Woah, slow down there_. He has no idea where that kind of thought came from, why it brought itself so forcefully to the forefront.

“Get up, princess aurora!” Andrew’s head then peers into Steven’s room with his trademark _Now-I’m-Fucking-With-Steven_ grin, and Steven jolts a bit in surprise.

“I’d never throw you out of a window,” Steven whispers, unable to stop himself from smiling fondly. Andrew is staring at him in bemusement, brows furrowed with confusion.

“Uhh- thanks? I guess?” and he chuckles and his whole face is in it, glowing with laughter. Steven thinks his heart might explode, as if someone’s been pumping it with molasses and everything in him feels thick and weighty and unbelievably sweet. 

“No problem, dude.” Steven gets out of bed, finally, still smiling. “Can’t say the same for Adam though, that man would throw you out of anything,”

There’s a sharp laugh that comes from the suite bathroom that’s right next to Steven’s room, and Andrew holds his forehead in his hand, but his lips are still quirked up, amused.

“I might,” the bathroom door startles open and Adam’s got a soft towel draped over his shoulder, smiling in that very Adam way of his when he knows he’s included in a joke. “I’ll throw whoever doesn’t feed me enough when we film,”

 

-

 

They're loading the camera equipment into the car when something clicks in Steven's head.

"Princess Aurora, huh?" and Andrew's eyebrows shoot up quizzically. "That's what you called me this morning,"

"Oh," his expression tenses, and Steven searches his face in suspicion.

"You called me sleeping beauty." Steven thinks he sees Andrew's cheeks go pink, but he can't trust his eyes anymore. "You did, didn't you?" Andrew shrugs again, noncommittally. 

"I call 'em how I see 'em." and then he smirks  at Steven, all dimpled and adorable and ruggedly handsome, and he's making his way to the passenger seat of the car. Steven can almost hear his fucking heartbeat. 

Ha _ha_ , Andrew. Nice one.

 

In the car, Steven throws him a sideways glance before he starts to drive, and Andrew winks at him. Steven's going to die.

 

-

 

They’re out again, and Steven’s got a quarter slice of lime that he’s been suckling on for an hour and he looks absolutely ridiculous. Mouth stretched into a comical grin, the green fruit situated over his teeth and he can’t stop laughing. Andrew’s been staring at him with one of those smiles that anyone can tell is so instinctive and involuntary he’s probably unaware he’s smiling himself, and there’s something in him that’s practically melting at the sight.

Steven’s trying to say something, lime still in his mouth, and Andrew forces his face to take on a mildly disgusted expression, still maintaining amusement all throughout.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the most absurd person they’ve ever met?” Andrew shakes his head briefly, unable to stop his cheeks from dimpling. Steven pops the lime into a napkin and beams wider than usual, if that’s even possible. “You’ve got the temperament of a 12 year old,”

“I’m going to take that as the compliment it very clearly is and say, why, thank you, Andrew-“

“Well, uh, it actually kinda was a compliment. It’s really cute, when you do – you know-“ Andrew is refusing to look anywhere near Steven’s face, now toying with the tiny umbrella that had come in Steven’s drink. “-you know,” he lamely finishes, and quickly chances a look at Steven.

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, and Andrew hopes it’s for more reasons than just the drinks, but he doesn’t know why he hopes that. Steven’s also gaping a little bit, which isn’t making anything better for Andrew because it’s suddenly impossible to take any breaths without them being shaky and Andrew’s mind is very foggy right now and Steven’s lips look really full and he just has to look into his own glass again, hoping the bronze coloured alcohol will provide a distracting image.

“You. You think-“ Steven’s voice brings him back to reality and Andrew wants to groan but he doesn’t. Steven’s really cute, he _knows_ this, fucking adorable, and it’s ruining his life, for some unexplained reason. He feels eyes burning into the side of his face and he knows they’re Steven’s, and he keeps his gaze averted. “Did you just say you think I’m cute?”

“Hey, that’s not what I said-“ Andrew forgets himself and looks up at Steven and his breath dies in his throat because Steven’s head is cocked to the side and he’s smiling and his tongue is peeking out from between his teeth and, _god_ , why did he have to be.... like that? You know? Andrew silently wishes he’d picked a project with a co-host that wasn’t so insultingly handsome, but, well. He really wouldn’t want to co-host with anyone but Steven.

Apparently Steven’s in the mood to taunt Andrew.

“Yeah you did, it was all there – you even did the whole ‘i’m avoiding looking at you’ schtick that’s really kinda hot-“ Andrew sees Steven’s eyes go wide at hearing his own words, and really, he’s had way too much to drink if he’s saying shit like that. Andrew’s heart lurches in his chest and he tries not to think about why. Steven laughs it off awkwardly, now the one to avoid Andrew’s gaze. “ _Wooh_ , well, guess I’ve had one too many glasses tonight,” he laughs again, but Andrew is not letting this go _. He thinks he can play the ‘oops haha i’m drunk’ card? Nice try._

“So. You think I’m hot?” Andrew acknowledges it’s unfair on his part, but he’s already feeling the high of relief at not being under the microscope anymore, and his skin is tingling. He takes a victorious sip of his drink, smile infectious and impossible to wipe off. Steven’s face is burning even more than it was before, and his jaw clenches, no escape in sight. He backed himself into a corner by opening his big mouth and now he’s going to have to address everything, most of all, and most frighteningly of all – his own feelings which he’d been avoiding.

“Uhh – uhm. No?”

“ _Liar_ ,” Andrew laughs.

“I’m not a, excuse you – I don’t _lie,_ okay, you’re like. You’re – you’re a handsome guy, it’s like, objective fact is all. I don’t _think_ you’re attractive, like I don’t think about you – uh, It’s not like. Not like – you know,” Steven takes a large gulp from his glass of water, and Andrew almost feels sorry for him but then Steven licks his lips and Andrew suddenly can’t think of any concept other than Steven’s lips and his lips getting along, and – fuck, he’s had a lot to drink too, hasn’t he? He doesn’t feel drunk, but there’s nothing for him to explain his thoughts away, so he settles for that.

Andrew shrugs, pressing on in teasing Steven.

“It’s okay, ‘s not your fault i’m so objectively irresistible,”

Steven’s blood runs cold, his body at a standstill - uncertain if he wants to laugh or cry or throw himself at Andrew for saying that. How can he _just say that_. He clears his throat.

“Yeah that’s, that’s all on you, dude.” and he lets himself chuckle to mask just how much he means it.

 

It’s not long before Adam returns to their table with Evan, laughing about something absurd and dragging them out of this scarily intimate conversation they were about to have – a few more rounds of shots for everyone, and Steven knows he will regret this all tomorrow.

And later, when they’re climbing into the back of a cab, Steven giggly and drunk and in the middle with Evan at his other side, he leans into the crook of Andrew’s neck and mumbles something which he’s sure no one will hear.

“I do think about you, sometimes.”

Andrew hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this is shorter than i'd like but i just. I had a need for the chapter to end right There u know? Anyway catch me crying over these boys. also. andrew has a thing for mentioning disney princesses? apparently?


	3. sweet to me, like sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this is so short and also it's been five years (tm) but i missed you guys so here's this trainwreck!

Steven loves waking up to sunlight. It’s their last day out of LA and they’re done with filming, and have until the afternoon to do whatever the hell they want. He briefly considers the benefits of lying in bed and floating in and out of consciousness until he has to pack his bags for the airport. His head doesn’t hurt, curiously enough – he’d had a bit to drink last night, and he feels like his bones are thanking him for this one full night of rest. That’s until he shifts his body just a touch and.

Steven is ready to have a heart attack.

He remembers, vaguely, how they’d stumbled into his room, all four of them, and played cards against humanity until Evan had the decency to call it a night, Adam going with him like, you know, normal human people would. Not Andrew. Oh no. Steven knows it’s unfair to think in these terms, Andrew’s his _best friend_ , but right now fuck the concept of friendship and fuck the concept of board games and most importantly fuck the concept of Andrew Ilnyckyj. The concept, he reminds himself, the concept only, not the man himself. He swallows around a lump in his throat he cannot reason away.

But back to Steven wanting to have a heart attack. It would be one-hundred percent preferable to what was currently happening. His head falls back on his pillow and he tries not to breathe, for a while.

Steven is tangled in the coverlet of his bed, and Andrew is curled up tightly around him – behind him – and Steven’s face is burning up, he really is ready for death right about now. Andrew may be fast asleep still, but certain...parts of him are very awake. Steven clenches his hand into a fist and lets his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, trying to will himself to stop thinking, stop thinking right now. His eyes are shut tight and he swears his life flashes before his eyes as he feels more than wills his hips to snap minutely backwards. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Andrew’s groan is reflexive and instantaneous and it’s warm on the shell of his ear. Steven curses plenty, but he’s never cursed as much as he is in his head right now. He gulps and stills entirely, until Andrew’s own hips rotate behind him in bed.

Steven bites his lip to stop from yelping, or even more embarrassingly whimpering. He plants his face deep into his pillow – _his_ pillow, he almost wants to laugh, this is a double bed and Andrew and he are fitted snugly on just one side of it with their heads on the same pillow – and resists the urge to groan in frustration.  Andrew’s hand tightens around him, around his waist, and Steven hadn’t even registered it was there in the first place, and then loosens almost in the same second. He feels Andrew’s body stiffen and he knows that Andrew has just woken up.

He doesn’t know what he expects, in that one frozen second before movement begins again, but it’s more along the lines of ‘Andrew freaks out and startles away from Steven, instantaneously, and they never talk about this ever again, ever’ and less along the lines of ‘Andrew Ilnyckyj has just dragged his hand across Steven’s stomach and up to his chest and is tentatively pushing himself tighter against his _ass’_ but that’s apparently what’s happening here, and Steven can practically smell the burnt-ness of his dying brain functions in the air.

Andrew lets out the softest of exhale gasps from his lips and his movements are so slurred, so tentative, waiting for the penny to drop. Steven is hyperventilating, and he knows Andrew can tell, his hand rested right where his chest is rising and falling rapidly and his heartbeat must be thumping like mad. It feels like forever, what was probably only two seconds, before Andrew clears his throat and rolls over on his back, shaking them both out of this lust-induced early morning reverie.

Steven can’t help the gutted feeling that follows, can’t help missing the warmth around him, can’t help but be turned on beyond repair. He doesn’t look at Andrew, too embarrassed, but he feels the bed dip as Andrew sits up and the air tightens around them both before his gravelly voice breaks this silence.

“We should really, uh – get some breakfast, yeah?” Andrew sounds so lost, trying to feign normalcy, even through a voice that is obscenely deeper than it has any right to be and only half of that volume is due to the rust of having just awoken. Steven shakes his head swiftly, as if that would shove the horrific distracting thoughts of Andrew hard against him out of his brain, before he responds.

“Yeah! Yeah,” his voice breaks, unsure if it wants to go high out of nerves or low in arousal. “Yeah, we should –“ clears his throat, “Do that.”

“Hey, Steven?” Andrew stalls, looks at Steven. Steven can tell, and he doesn’t want to but he can’t help looking back. Andrew’s ears are all red and his lips are all puffy and his hair is mussed up and it’s all Steven can do not to let out that embarrassing whimper he held in earlier. He can’t hope to let himself say anything, knowing his voice would betray all his thoughts, so he just stares expectantly at Andrew. “I’m – i’m really sorry about, uh. That. You know it was, I wasn’t present, in the moment, didn’t realise. I’m sorry, still. That was uncool of me,” Steven holds his breath and his mind races. He knows he should placate Andrew, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, and he hates thinking Andrew is berating himself in his head for something that was completely natural – which he knows he totally is, he _knows_ Andrew.

He feels like a fraud. He should apologise. He should apologise more, Steven knows. He wants to, but he bites his tongue. He initiated this whole catastrophe, Steven initiated it and he should apologise but if he apologises he won’t be able to stop his traitor mouth and he’s going to say it, he’s going to say something irreparable, and completely stupid, because his brain shuts off whenever Andrew’s around most of the time anyway but especially now, through the muddy thoughts of early morning and him half-hard in his pyjama pants. He initiated this, and he wanted it, god, he wanted it so much. Why did he want it so much? Why did the thought of Andrew’s warmth and Andrew’s lips and Andrew’s mussed up hair make Steven mad with desire, make his bones melt inside his body, turn everything he thought of into useless sparks of need? Fuck the concept of friendship and the concept of board games and fuck Andrew Ilnyckyj. Shit.

“No, it’s, it really is okay. Besides, it was my fault too,” he quirks up a bit of a smile, so proud that he got through that whole sentence with barely a voice crack. Andrew nods at him, seeming reassured, if only slightly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man. It’s morning anyway, these things are normal,” Andrew breaks out a smile and looks down, almost timid. Steven’s heart threatens to tear a hole in his chest.

“I guess so but. I was really worried I made a mess of things,” there’s something there – in Andrew’s tone, and Andrew’s eyes as he looks up and at Steven (only for a moment and then he looks away as if burned), something that reminds Steven so much of what he’s thinking, of what he wants. Steven doesn’t let himself process this, he forgets he ever saw it.

“You didn’t,” he puts on his best smile for Andrew. “stop worrying so much, Ilnyckyj,” his smile becomes genuine, now, and he raises his pillow (smells like Andrew) and bats at him playfully. Andrew ‘s smile widens and he shields himself before standing up, slapping his hands to his knees.

“Alright, c’mon, let’s go eat –“

“Your favourite pastime-”

“Runs in our little family,” Andrew reaches and grabs Steven’s arm, and he drops the pillow. Andrew had spoken without thinking and is dragging Steven out of their bed (not _their_ , not theirs, Steven has to keep reminding himself) but Steven feels like he might throw up, and he doesn’t know why. _Our little family_. Ha. Of course he knows why. Andrew is bringing death upon Steven Lim, and Steven Lim is no longer ready.

Steven does a wonderful job of ignoring the way Andrew’s pants are tighter around his groin, of not thinking about Andrew hard against him, pats himself on the back for not looking at Andrew’s very plump very firm backside as he walks to the bathroom. A+ for Steven Lim. He starts up the coffee maker and lightly bangs his head against the cupboards. Fuck Andrew Ilnyckyj.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm these boys sure do like to Be Gay in their hotel rooms  
> i wrote this in 20 mins at 4am and am posting it unedited so if it is absolutely abhorrent that is All On Me but i havent posted in a hot minute and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i missed you guys and thought i should write SOMETHING so i hope u all like it?? pls don't doxx me for my absence kldsjafdsfka


	4. i'm craving for you, i'm missing you like candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like my writing style in this took a 180 for the usual flow of this fic but! i digress

It’s unbelievable the shit he gets himself into, Andrew thinks. You know that feeling of having a scab you’re not allowed to pick at and the very illicitness of it makes you want to, just out of spite? Sometimes Andrew counteracts that by pretending the scab isn’t there, distracting himself with anything else so he’s not tempted to scratch up his own wound. Yeah well, it’s never worked, so why would it this time? It’s been months since Andrew first started feeling...whatever the _hell_ this is, and he guesses he’s always known, but, you know, he knew he wasn’t supposed to, so he pretended it wasn’t there (no temptation, no scratching up his own wound). Shit comes crashing sometimes, though.

It wasn’t just the boner incident. That could’ve happened with anyone. _(Alright, no, it really couldn’t have – it was Steven’s scent and Steven’s bed and Steven’s warmth and Steven’s firm little waist and his cute little butt and god help him)._ This mess has been going on for so long and Andrew’s been so reckless, so irresponsible, for letting it get this out of hand. It’s the hand holding and the lingering glances and the leaning on his shoulder in cars and standing up and at tables and looking at his lips when they’re having lunch together _– lunch together_ ; like a fucking four years old couple with a shared mortgage and plans for child adoption. Literally married.

And it would be okay - all things considered - if this were just your run-of-the-mill, i’m in my mid-20s and having the biggest sexuality crisis of my life – but no, it’s his best friend, and he wants to sleep with him. HIs best friend. That’s all sorts of baggage. And okay, “wants to sleep with him” is a huge disservice, a _huge_ disservice to what Andrew’s really feeling, but even now, holding his head in his hands on his desk, at the office, already having made an irreversible step in addressing that something’s going the fuck on, it’s too much to even begin to dig up names for what it is. He knows what it is, he does, it’s something in the corner of his eye in every thought he has, all the time. He’s known all this time, it’s probably been years, too, just hasn’t had time to acclimate until now, until worth it.  Fuck.

“You okay, hot honey?” That really does it, he hears that voice, he knows that voice, and he sees red. He almost loses it, he wants to scream. _How dare you, Steven Lim_. He turns his glare up and out of his own pathetic arms and meets Steven’s gaze. He’s holding out a cup of coffee, for him. The fight melts out of him, deflating entirely, as if it had never been there – as if it were just air taking up space, not an ounce of passion or intensity. Steven’s impossibly warm in his smile and the way he’s looking at Andrew expectantly, like he knows something’s the matter but he’s coaxing him very gently out of his self imposed shell to talk about it, and it’s all Andrew can do not to bang his head on the keyboard. Or bang Steven on the keyboard. Or, wait, backtrack-

“Literally, earth to Andrew,” Steven looks amused more than anything, his free hand waving in front of his face. Andrew’s eyes are glazed over for a second before almost sharpening as he snaps out of it.

“Hi, Steve.” he tries his best at a smile. He fails, really. Steven doesn’t mention it.

“There’s an ‘n’ somewhere in that name, I’m sure of it,” it’s said in jest, and he’s chuckling as he takes the free office chair beside Andrew, sliding his gift coffee over. “What’s got you looking all glum?” Andrew wants to punch himself for ever thinking he could be angry with _this_.

“...Uhh,” he gestures vaguely and tentatively reaches for the coffee, chancing a look at Steven, as if asking for permission for something.

“It’s yours, Ilnyckyj, you can drink it-“ Steven always knows what he’s thinking, it seems, and Andrew can’t even help himself from smiling as he takes a sip. Steven knows him better than anyone else. That’s his most comforting and his most terrifying realisation. Maybe not most terrifying, there are others, at the backburner of his mind just waiting to spring on him when he’s got his guard down like-

Steven looking at him with furrowed brows, all worried and puppy-eyed and he’s chewing on his lip and Andrew almost chokes on his coffee with how unbelievably hot that is, and now he’s really hoping Steven cannot, in fact, read his mind, because that would just be too much to answer for, too much. “You know you’re a really terrible liar.” Steven says at last, and he’s got that self-satisfied look on his face, like congrats Sherlock, you’ve unwrapped the non-enigma. Andrew snorts a bit, and Steven assumes a mockingly sour look.

“I’m just, you know, not enough sleep, yeah?” and he thinks he believes it too, for a second. He really is exhausted, been working like mad. He hopes Steven buys it, because the last thirty minutes have kicked in and he remembers with incredible vivacity that he is very much not troubled over his lack of sleep, unless if you count ‘not sleeping with Steven in Steven’s bed at Steven’s house at their house together, with Steven, all over Steven’ as a type of lack of sleep. His face is embarrassingly red, he should google this, maybe he’s coming down with something.

“Pssh, yeah, I know, you’ve been working insane hours lately. Maybe you should wrap it up early today? Oh, by the way!” Steven’s face lights up with a memory, “I bought you a bagel! It’s cream-cheese, I know you like those when you’re having a bad day.” And really, he doesn’t deserve Steven, fuck, no one deserves Steven, Steven is too good for anyone, miles out of everyone’s league in every possible way, just too great a friend, always so thoughtful and compassionate and trying to make people happy, and it always works, of course it fucking works, it’s Steven Lim, who doesn’t think Steven is human joy, Andrew certainly does, that’s why he’s in love with him, that’s why Steven’s his best friend, that’s why he’s better than anyone Andrew knows and better than Andrew could ever hope to have, who he will never have, not really, and Andrew’s forgotten his original train of thought already.

Andrew’s head stops whirring out his string of ceaseless thoughts and just freezes. He knows he just did something, he just stumbled upon something, but he can’t figure out what. His whole body is working against him, it seems, maybe his strategy of pretending the scab isn’t there has been working so well that he can’t relocate it when he needs to. His mind is coming up blank, Steven is digging through his bag for the brown paper package that contains his cream cheese bagel and Andrew can feel his brain cells being fried by the second as he tries to replay everything that just happened to have that _moment_ again.

“A-ha!” Steven is smiling so much as he finally resurfaces with the bagel, beaming only the way he can, and Andrew is struck with the ache of how much he wants to kiss him. And he remembers. He realises. He – he has the moment _. I’m in love with you._ He feels his arms and legs turn to jell-o, isn’t sure if all the blood is rushing to or draining from his face. He’s emotionally spent, he’s finished.

He really hopes Steven can’t read his thoughts, now. So he takes the bagel with a timid thank-you, grabs his hand back like he’s been electrocuted when their fingers touch. He can’t reconcile what he wants to do with what Steven deserves to hear, wants to say “thank you so much you are the best friend ever”, wants to say “please don’t do stuff like this it makes my heart hurt with how much I want to kiss you”, wants to say “I might actually cry with how much I love you”, wants to stay “please take me home right now and let’s curl up and watch ferris bueller’s day off, it’s been such a long day”. But he doesn’t. Steven’s still looking at him with that worry, and his gut twists because Steven cares about him so much, and that should be enough – it should be, it is! it is. Andrew feels sick all over with how much he knows he’s lying. It’s not enough; he’ll take it, whatever he can have, it’s more than perfect – but he wants more, because he’s selfish and he’s always been like that. It makes him feel rotten from the inside out. He can barely breathe.

“No, thanks, Steven – really. You have- you’ve no idea how much this means to me,” he manages. Steven slaps his knees and chuckles a bit.

“For what, dude? It’s just a bagel-“ and that’s the problem, isn’t it. Just a bagel, just a bagel – and Andrew’s reeling like _this_? He’s fucked all over, truly. “-anything for you,” Steven’s eyes widen with something for a second, his words dimming out as he realises what he’s saying and Andrew’s heartrate picks up like crazy. It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything.

“Because I’m _Worth It_?” he hopes to break the tension. Steven almost sighs in relief.

“You get my vote, not sure about Adam’s though.”

“Eh, he always goes with my choice anyway –“

“And you’d vote for yourself – of course – stay classy, Andrew,” he’s shaking his head fondly.

_I’d vote for you. A million times over, you, you, you. Until my lungs stop working and until the ballots don’t count. Shit._ He thinks.

“Of course, Steven, you see any other Hot Honey around here?” he says, instead.

“Only in the mirror.” Steven always meets him in the middle, always has a comeback just as good. This one’s his best, Andrew thinks. His best. How true. He doesn’t say anything, only lets out one single sharp _Ha_ as a laugh, and unwraps his bagel.

 

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........me? hurt by my own fic? very fucking likely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	5. like sugar to my heart (like best friends do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are picking up at buzzfeed hq they're finally getting somewhere albeit extremely fucking slowly

_Steven is being tested to his fucking limits_. There’s christmas music playing, softly, over the speakers but everything is dimming away, like Steven is hearing it all through a plexiglass cage, a dream slipping out of reach, as he tunnel visions in on only Andrew.The first thing he notices as soon as he spots Andrew is his sweater. The universe – god – is testing him as far as he can go. Time freezes - Steven is reminded a bit of that ice banana in fruit ninja, slice it and watch as everything slows like passing through an ichor. He almost didn’t see him, from where he was across the room, but there’s a beacon for Andrew wherever he goes – it seems. Like a tiny traffic cone hovering above his head screaming _“Steven look at me, feel your stomach flip in your body a million times”._ It’s unfair, really, and absurd, because Steven likes to think he’s a good person – he tries his best, he’s nice even when he’s annoyed, he’s kind as much as he possibly can be. But apparently that’s not enough, and this is his punishment. It’s caramel taupe-and-white, that’s his punishment - silhouettes of reindeer marking a subtle pattern across it, and he realises the reindeer are arranged in pairs with tiny hearts crocheted over them. Cause of death; _this fucking sweater_ , and Steven is really _not_ having this right now. He sighs and shakes his head, nothing about this situation is normal, it registers in Steven’s brain through a haze, blurred out of focus.

Andrew is on the other side of the room, has just waltzed through the faculty room doors with a tray of jell-o shots, and the plastic cup of fruit punch in Steven’s hand barely clings to his fingertips, about to fall. Steven feels everything in his gut. Something aches in his chest and he sets down his cup, he wants to hold onto a table, onto something, he wants to throw up he wants to go home. He hasn’t seen Andrew in a few days and his brain is sore from thinking of him so much, but now that he’s here, he’s _here_ – and Steven is tempted to run so hard out the door and never look back. He’s overreacting, isn’t he? Fuck. He can’t stop staring at Andrew.

A minute ago he was burying his smile into his drink, the air lit up with everyone’s laughter. It still is, it still is because the world is the same and everyone at this holiday staff party is being a normal person about things and Steven is that one guy who can’t just let bygones be bygones and has to lose his freaking mind every time Andrew walks into a room, apparently, because that’s what’s happening here right now and he has no explanation for it. He can’t intellectualize this away. Everything’s rosy pink until Andrew shows up and suddenly it’s like a punch to the face or the gut or everywhere at once. He’s not Shane Madej. He doesn’t have a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything at all times. God, he wishes he did, right now.

He could lie to himself. He could sate his worried brain by convincing himself that, yes, that one morning in their hotel room (the one where they woke up curled around each other and achingly hard – he reminds himself, almost feels his face burn off) had been weird, and Steven’s still hung up on that, because it made him uncomfortable. That _that’s_ why he’s acting so weird. He can do that. Except, he really can’t, because Steven’s never been good at lying – he doesn’t like to, he doesn’t have a talent for it, and it makes his stomach queasy – and because none of this bullshit excuse would even begin to explain why Andrew in this fucking sweater makes Steven so weak in the knees it’s almost laughable. Besides, pretending to have been not-okay with that morning in the hotel would be unfair to Andrew, because Steven had been the very fucking opposite of not-okay with it, he had been so okay with it, so okay with it that he can’t stop thinking about it whenever he has a moment to himself, no matter how hard he tries not to. And he doesn’t really know what to do with that realisation except repress, repress, repress.

Steven may not be good at lying to himself, but he’s very good at piling distractions on top of all his feelings he doesn’t like. Like always, it eventually comes crashing down, things resurfacing just to bite him in the ass.

Andrew sets down his tray of alcohol and is worming his way through the crowd to him, with that private smile of his, the one where he looks like he forgets anyone else exists, like he’s laughing at a joke between himself and god. And Steven _wants_ – he wants so much it curls in his stomach like a stab of dulcet pain. Steven’s had this a long time coming. He suspects it’s why he asked Andrew to be his co-host in the first place. Something that probably started out as healthy admiration and has escalated in the most _horrifying_ of ways. Steven’s allowed his feelings to run ahead of him, as per usual, ever since he and Andrew crossed that line from work-friends to best friends, and now Steven finds himself wanting to cross more lines, and fuck, now that he’s opened that dam of thoughts he can’t ever hope to close it again. He has to force a smile onto his face as he feels the ground almost slide from under him.

Steven figures it out in a split-second – what he’s been avoiding for months, for fucking years. Steven sees it spelled out in the air between him and Andrew as he walks towards Steven. He feels like such an idiot now, but it’s so clear he wonders if everyone else knows before he ever did. It’s a bit like a breath of fresh air but also Steven can hardly breathe as he takes in Andrew’s winter-chapped lips and his tousled hair and his goddamn _sweater_. Steven’s in love with Andrew. Steven’s so in love with him and probably has been since the very fucking beginning and he’s going to have to move to Canada and change his name and burn his papers and surgically remove the part of his brain that retains all his memories and – Andrew pulls him into a hug. Steven slightly short-circuits, which is ridiculous, they’re best friends and they  didn’t see each other over the past three days and this is a totally normal, casual, workplace-appropriate hug but Steven is making it weird by being Steven and. He takes a deep steadying breath (big mistake, inhales Andrew’s scent all the way in – cinnamon and cloves and jell-o) and relaxes into it for a second before they pull away, feeling a real smile tug at his lips. This is Andrew. It’s Christmas. He loves Christmas, it’s his weak spot (and so is Andrew).

“Hey!” he says, and thank _god_ conversational politeness is hard-wired as a reflex into him by now, because he doesn’t think he could have gotten that far on his own.

Andrew, on his part, looks happier than anything to see Steven.

“Hey, Steven,” he’s still smiling, cheeks a little rosy – must be the AC and the sweater – the fucking _sweater_. Or Andrew’s already tipsy. The fucking _sweater_. Steven notices his hands are still clinging to Andrew’s sides, to his sweater, which is softer than it even looked and Steven finds himself looking down at it and it’s a little baggy, big around Andrew’s arms, and a frenetic little laugh escapes him at that because it’s baggy _around his arms_ – his fucking thunder arms that could probably deadlift two of him at the same time because Andrew is so ridiculously strong and all his muscles are pulled taut because he’s athletic and, fuck. This sweater is odious, Steven thinks. It’s this sweater’s fault.

Steven pulls his hands away too fast, almost mechanically - like he doesn’t actually want to but he knows it’s what he must do. Which is, frankly, exactly what happened. He looks up into Andrew’s eyes and feels the smile still on his own face hasn’t gone away, because how could it.

Andrew’s looking at him a little quizzically, sensing something’s off. He’s so cute when he’s all worried like that, his brows furrowed close and his gaze almost uncomfortably personal. Steven warms all over, wonders if his cheeks are pink too, now. Andrew’s certainly are. He distractedly licks his lips and Steven follows the movement with his eyes. Andrew’s eyes are darker now but he clears his throat and they both break eye contact, sensing tension.

“Are the jell-o shots ready, old man? You two can ogle each other any day, we’re waiting for your cue to have at ‘em, boy,” Kelsey’s voice is a precise needle piercing through the delicacy of this moment, and Steven finds himself torn between annoyance at her calling them out and relief that she broke them out of whatever they had fallen into. Andrew laughs and flips her off, fondly.

“Yeah come on, they’re ripe for the taking,”

“Ay! Yo, Eugene! Jell-o shots!” she’s smiling as wide as she can, and Steven is washed over with an unrelenting fondness for this moment, right here, as Eugene crosses the room with his own alcohol-flushed cheeks and a bag of Franzia in his left hand. Honestly, those two scare Steven a little bit, bisexual duo from hell, but dammit if he doesn’t love them.

The bustle of the room, the chatter of their friends, Andrew’s cosy fucking sweater – Steven could live in this comfortable feeling forever. His line of sight sticks to the collar of Andrew’s sweater, wonders how soft it must feel to wear it, thinks of himself wearing Andrew’s clothes, knows his cheeks must be as red as Andrew’s. He stares at the curve of his throat as he turns into the crowd and comes back out with two plastic shot cups, offering one up to Steven.

“Bottoms up,” Andrew smiles and downs the whole thing, and Steven follows suit only after he’s let himself luxuriate in watching Andrew’s adam’s apple go to work on swallowing the alcohol, after replaying that particular smile in his mind.  

Now that Steven’s paid attention to his emotions, everything that used to escape his attention (because he’d purposefully baseball pitch it so hard out of field) is now shoved centre-stage. It’s almost like retribution for what’s been years of ignoring the thoughts of his he didn’t like enough to entertain. The vodka and the sugar sink down his throat and he feels even warmer now. But his thoughts have sobered up a surprising amount. He can’t have this. He can’t have this and he cannot want this. And he shouldn’t want this, but he does, and it could ruin everything, it could ruin the project of his _life_ , it could ruin the friendship of his life. He swallows again, around nothing, but tasting bitterness, and he can’t tell if that’s the aftertaste or if it’s just him trying not to choke up around his feelings.

“You ok?” and Andrew’s been looking at him for a while now, Steven realises. His own face has sunk a bit, at having his grounding thoughts, and he likes to think he’s an optimist, so he knows nothing will be ruined – nothing at all – if he just keeps his mouth shut, if he doesn’t do anything about anything, if he lets things continue as they had (but before the spooning, and before the pancakes, and certainly before the nuzzling his face into Andrew’s neck drunk in a cab).

“I keep getting lost in my own thoughts these days, work’s catching up to me, a bit,” his smile back is sheepish, and he absolutely loathes this because he’s just had that talk with himself about not-lying-to-people-much-less-himself and yet here he is giving the most stellar performance of his life and it’s kind of bittersweet in how convincing it is. Andrew nods, sagely, as if he knows, which he absolutely does not, not what’s really going on. His expression shifts from somber to cheeky as he grabs an empty cup and fills it up with a bubbly white wine – one that Steven loves, he knows he loves it, and Steven almost sobs at that. Andrew’s such a good friend, and Steven feels a bit like he’s taking advantage. He shakes that out of his mind – he can’t help his dumb feelings, and as long as he keeps their friendship just that – a friendship – things should be fine.

“It’s the holiday season, leave work for the night,” Andrew’s voice is so gravelly, as it always is, and Steven is so tempted to whine at that as he takes the cup from Andrew.

 

-

 

This morning Andrew had woken up in a not-great state. Half-hard, sweating in his bed – not great. Ever since his (way overdue) realisation that he is knee-deep in inescapable feelings for his best friend, it’s been harder than ever to focus on anything but that. All his suppressed emotions and distracting thoughts have avalanched onto him and it’s as if un-ignoring them has made them immune to second-time repression, so Andrew’s stuck at a standstill where every disgustingly cute Steven Lim related thought he has flashes neon bright in his head – irritating and taunting him. _Haha, how funny, I’m in love with Steven and he could never feel the same way but yeah, let’s all laugh at Andrew Ilnyckyj, that’s a great time_.

It’s been like this for the past few days – ever since that morning in their hotel room – and Andrew is fucking tired of the cold showers. He needs to get over Steven and he needs to get over him now.

He straight up laughs at himself in the mirror as soon as he thinks that. That might be his dumbest thought yet. Maybe he could one day be not-in-love with Steven Lim – sure - but that possibility lies so far in the future it’s painful, and beautiful, and sad all at once.

He coasts through his day like he’s floating, like nothing is touching him. Quinta asks him to send her a file thrice and he says _yes of course_ every time and it’s almost like she never spoke to him at all because it doesn’t sink in his brain, it never lands, he cannot process anything in his surroundings. He’s in love with Steven Lim. He replays that phrase in his mind as often as he possibly can, because it makes something roil in his tummy uncomfortably, but not unpleasantly, and he kind of likes that in a twisted way. He knows this is the unhealthiest route he could possibly take for this, but he’s going to milk this unrequited love thing for all it’s worth, because having a crush can hurt in a delectable way and Andrew’s kind of missed that. You’d think he’s not the type to do that but, here we fucking are. Quinta corners him by the end of the day and very sternly, but very gently, tells him to get his shit together.

“You’re not acting normal today. I asked you to send me that research file like five times.” Andrew stares at her openly, unsure what to say, mostly because he can’t remember her asking him that at all. “I’m not being coarse with you – you know I love you. But something’s the matter, man, and you’re acting strange. And it’s interfering with your work, and now it’s interfering with mine-“ she’s delicate when she says this, punctuates her sentence by squeezing Andrew’s arm in sympathy. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you need some sleep, too. Just take the day off, you know you’re owed it anyway – you work hella hard, no one would give you shit for it, you know that, right?”

Andrew is overwhelmed and he rubs at his temples and his eyes. She’s right, she’s always right – it’s Quinta, when is she not? He needs to get his act together. Tonight is the staff party, too, he’s going to go home and take a long fucking nap, or he’s going to hire Quinta and pay her to kick his mopey ass.

“Fuck, you’re right, Q – sorry I’ve been so distracted, I- I’m sending you that file right now-“ and he opens up the folder on his monitor, Quinta’s lips quirking up in a tender sort of smile. Very maternal. He loves his friends so much, god he’s been so out of it.

“Dude, it’s alright – I’m not that pressed about the file, it was just an excuse for me to grill you a bit over this. Although I do need that file, so – thanks a billion but. You know what I mean,” she waves a hand at him and she’s back to her usual smiling self, and she gives him a light punch to the shoulder. “Go home early, kay? You better show up at this party, and you better have the time of your life, or I will beat your ass,” Andrew can’t help the chuckle that leaves his smiling lips. She read his mind, almost. What is it with his coworkers and them reading his thoughts, lately? That brings him right back to Steven, and his smile slips instantly from his face and his intestines feel like they’re tied up in knots and he knows he’s blushing. Quinta is staring at him with not even slightly masked concern. “Fuck, dude, you just went through five stages of grief, yeesh. Lov’ ya, Ilnyckyj, but clock out asap.” and she pats his shoulders and leaves him with a sympathetic smile.

Andrew leans back in his chair and sighs, muttering a sincere ‘thanks’ after her, Quinta waving a hand dismissively in lieu of ‘no problem’ as she walks away. He sends her the file, and goes home.

 

-

 

Andrew feels fucking fantastic. Usually afternoon naps? Unideal – they leave you groggy and sore and your mouth tastes like cotton and it’s all flavours of bad, but this time, he’s finally relaxed for once, and he’s showered and he feels great and he’s going to see Steven, and that’s not going to fuck him up, at all. Because Steven is first and foremost his very best friend, and he owes it to him and to himself to just let it be what it is. To take it at face value. To be his friend, and to enjoy a night out with his friend, like a friend. A totally platonic friend, and he’s not going to shove his other friend into a wall and kiss him until they both see fireworks. Now, see, that’s what he’s _not_ going to do. Andrew smiles as he drives to the staff party.

It’s half an hour after he’s arrived that he sees Steven’s there too – he’s just helped out preparing the jell-o shots and is walking with a tray full of them to the table right next to Steven, right there. Steven sees him and looks like someone just dropped a piano on him, and Andrew’s going to have to ask him what’s up with that later, but now everything fizzes up to his throat and he’s a little bit drunk because he’s already had a few drinks and some indulgent sips of vodka and he’s? Feeling good, he’s feeling great, and he’s excited because Steven’s here! And he loves Steven. He really loves Steven. Man, Steven’s so great.

Before he knows it they’re hugging and everything feels like before this whole mess unravelled itself, like before the fog had cleared, like back when they were just friends and Andrew could still pretend he was okay with that, with just that. Not that he’s not okay with it now, because Steven is his favourite person in the world. They’re making small talk and Andrew is only half-listening to what he’s saying. Steven is sunshine, Steven is real love and happiness, and he’s the luckiest person on earth to get to be his best friend. But, you know, kissing him would be great, too. He licks his lips at that. Steven stares at his mouth in that second. Andrew remembers his internal monologue from earlier that day in the bathroom – the one about not shoving Steven into a wall and making out with him – and he really wishes he hadn’t made that pact with himself right about now. He’s about one jell-o shot away from blurting out all his thoughts unfiltered, but everything feels dreamy and his thinking’s a little bit fuzzy and not entirely because of the drinking. His chest just feels warm and he’s maybe feeling like he might sort of probably start to sweat. It’s too hot in here. Steven’s so close.

Andrew clears his throat, the part of his brain that’s responsible and does most of his rational thinking kicking into gear, albeit delayed. They both look away, for a second, and it’s tense and something feels like it’s clutching at his heart with sharp claws but it’s not uncomfortable, at the same time – which is fully weird and Andrew knows it but sometimes being around Steven is like that, a big contradiction, but wholly pleasant.

The night goes on in slow motion, like every second is swimming through honey, but it also passes too fast. It’s 1am and every single person in the room is belting their lungs out to “ _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ ” and he feels light, and so so happy. Steven leans against him as he wails out the chorus to nobody, and Andrew holds onto him before he falls – they’re both equally drunk, he’d say, but he still has his motor functions, if only barely.

Adam is more outspoken than ever before when he’s drunk, and he’s doubling over himself with giggles as he’s trying to conduct the world’s most unsuccessful game of twister. Steven thinks of joining but he’s too wrapped up in everything else to make a decision, and he’s basically just going wherever Andrew does, because they’re a team, package deal – like something Ryan and Shane would say, but isn’t it true? He’d distracted himself from Andrew for only a second – but a second too long, as he feels Andrew tug him closer by the shoulders and plop a santa hat onto his head. Steven instinctively holds his hand up to touch it, and feels it velvety and with a few swirly patterns threaded into it, and he giggles. _Andrew, you madman_. His smile slightly falters as he takes in Andrew under the low lights, and he’s got a hat of his own and it’s pine green. He’s smiling too, and it’s making his cheeks crease with dimples and his eyes glaze over a bit – Steven isn’t handling himself very well in this moment.

“Let’s get some cake,” Steven walks excitedly over to the end of the buffet with all the colourful slices, tugging Andrew along by the hand, and

“Sure,” – _they’re holding hands_ , when had that happened? But Steven’s taking his time deliberating over which slice looks best, because he’s so much pickier when he’s drunk, and Andrew prides himself in knowing that, a little bit – even though he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t stop smiling fondly as he looks at Steven’s brow crease, taking in all the ready plates and calculating the desnity and the frosting and the thickness of each slice before he takes his pick. “You’re such a nerd, Steven Lim, just take one – you can always get seconds,”

“But that’s not the point! It’s about getting it right, and then you can get it right again with seconds!” Steven’s eyes are wide and he looks frantically serious, but he breaks into a grin and shoves his shoulder into Andrew’s. “But yeah, you’re right, it’s just cake-“

“Mistletoe!” someone’s voice breaks their trains of thought, and Andrew’s head whips around on reflex to find the source of it. Keith is nursing a bottle of cider and he looks ecstatic as he stares at them both. The noise of this party is loud enough that no one else heard him – and if they did, they’re too drunk to care, but Andrew still feels his heart threaten to leave his chest cavity with every loud beat. “You guys know what that means,” Keith smiles and wiggles his eyebrows very suggestively, and it’s well-intentioned but Andrew feels Steven stiffen beside him. Fuck, this is every single one of his worst nightmares executed in their mildest form, but still executed. Keith steps closer to them and whispers in mock-conspiracy – “You two better smooch or else Santa’s gonna put coal in your stockings.” he smirks in that way of his, that I’m-messing-with-you-guys spice that Keith makes so endearing, and Andrew chuckles and licks his lips and tries to look at every piece of food on the table in front of him instead of at Steven, not even daring to look up to confirm if there really is mistletoe. Keith takes a cake pop from the table and shrugs before winking at them, and walking off to find Becky, and Andrew lets out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He’s still holding Steven’s hand.

“Whew!” Steven breathes out, laughing nervously. “I thought he was gonna make us kiss,” Andrew has to look at him now, it’s instinctive, and Steven looks like he’s holding back a smile but his cheeks are impossibly pink. He’s fucked up for sure now, looking at Steven, unable to not think of kissing him, that he recklessly chances a look upwards and – sure enough – tied to a plastic string hanging from the ceiling, it’s that cursed plant. Andrew whistles low.

“Keith wasn’t kidding though – I didn’t see this before, who the fuck di-“ he pauses midsentence and then he and Steven both say; “Kelsey.” They can’t hold their chuckles in and Steven pulls his hand from Andrew’s clumsily, too deliberate for Andrew not to pay attention to it. Their hands have grown sweaty, and Andrew feels like such an idiot.

“So...” Steven says, and his voice is more hoarse than it was a second ago, and he’s looking very pointedly over all the cake slices again.

“So?” Andrew parrots.

“Well, I mean, it’s. It’s christmas tradition, right?” Something in the lilt of his voice is hopeful, or Andrew wishes it is, and Steven has no reason to be saying this, so Andrew doesn’t know what the fuck is going on but he thinks it must be all the alcohol, and Steven is berating himself mentally because this is exactly what he said he wasn’t going to do – _what the fuck happened to not doing anything about anything and just being his friend, jesus fucking christ_. There’s a silence that’s too pregnant for either of them to be comfortable in, and Steven knows he has to look at Andrew, because he doesn’t know what Andrew’s reaction to this is at all and that freaks him out, so he makes eye contact and – fuck. Fuck, bad move, fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

Andrew is looking at him, softly, reverently, his head cocked to the side.

“Well – it’s tradition,” something like a smile ghosts over his face, and Andrew leans the slightest bit forward, his hand going up to cup at Steven’s jaw. Steven’s breath dies in his lungs, his fingers lose feeling. “Wouldn’t want those seven years of bad luck if we _don’t_ do it-“ he looks absolutely smug now, and Steven doesn’t even know he gathers the strength or brain power to respond with;

“I think that’s breaking a mirror,” and his voice is embarrassingly low, and embarrassingly whispery – but Andrew hears him all the same because he’s so _fucking close_ , Steven’s going to die. Why is Andrew doing this? He’s drunk, fuck, that’s why.

“Hmm, maybe – let’s not risk it, though,” and Andrew’s lips connect with Steven’s cheek, and Steven deflates with a mixture of relief and gutwrenching disappointment, because of course, of course he wouldn’t actually kiss him – Andrew would _never_ actually kiss him. But at least, crisis averted, he guesses. He can feel Andrew’s breathing hot on the side of his face, and his hands instinctively grab onto Andrew’s sweater, digging into his sides. Andrew pulls away, then, looking more flushed than before and with pupils so dilated the blue in his eyes is swallowed up, but Steven doesn’t think to notice, mouth hanging open in shock and staring at a particular very interesting spot on Andrew’s sweater instead of at Andrew directly, in any way.

“Haha, let’s not –“ his voice sounds so weak, forced out of his throat, then. “Risk it, I mean. Th- The bad luck, seven years. Yeah.” Steven gulps, detaches his hands from Andrew very reluctantly, very slowly, and takes a huge inhale. He still won’t look at him, instead turning to grab a slice of cake, any slice of cake, willing his head to stop swimming – curse the fucking alcohol and now all the blood rushing to his cheeks and his brain and some of it even more unfortunately southwards.

“Uh.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse. He clears his throat. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have taken you by surprise like that,” He rubs at the base of his neck, and that’s when Steven looks at him, a glance. He wishes he hadn’t, Andrew glowing in the christmas lights all around the room and looking so frustratingly adorable. Steven fucking hates this. “I keep doing the wrong thing, it seems.” And there it was. It’s punctuated with a smile, a genuine smile, so Steven knows he’s partly joking, but Andrew’s talking about that morning in the hotel, for the first time since it happened, and Steven was kind of hoping they’d never have to address that again. _You’re not doing the wrong thing, you’re doing the right thing, just not enough of it._ He wants to say, really does – it’s what he means to say, but he’s not going to, because he’s not an idiot and he has even an ounce of self-preservation left and so he grabs a forkful of cake and holds it up to Andrew, an olive branch, a distraction.

“Don’t be silly, you goose – it was a kiss on the cheek, you’re my best friend, we’re under mistletoe – we’re having fun, it’s not that serious,” he looks at Andrew’s eyes, prompting him, the _‘right?_ ’ in his words implicit but not said. Andrew wets his lower lip and Steven’s eyes dart to it for a split second, before he takes the bite Steven’s been offering to him, lips wrapping around the plastic fork, eyes boring into Steven’s.

Steven realises this might have been an awful idea.

It feels like an eternity later when Andrew swallows the cake that he says “Yeah, we’re having fun.” and smiles at Steven, a real wide one. Steven relaxes, smiles back, eats some cake (same fork as Andrew, same fork as Andrew, his lips have been around this, his lips have been around this), shakes his head to keep himself from straying into unwanted territory. Andrew’s gut twists uncomfortably, Steven saying ‘it’s not that serious’ echoing like a mantra in his head, both calming him and feeling like a particular stab to the chest. But Steven looks so happy to be eating his cake, and Andrew is so happy to be here, and Andrew got to kiss him – even if it was just his cheek – so things can’t be all bad. He refuses to let them be.

He knew Steven just sees him as a friend, and that’s what they are – and so it doesn’t hurt, not as much as he thought it would, even if it stings slightly – so he’s going to go with that, and he’s going to stay friendly, and they’re going to continue churning out Worth It content because it’s something that they both love. And it’s not going to be weird. Steven offers him another bite of cake and Andrew absently mentions that it was really tasty and tries some more, and they smile at each other. You know. Like best friends do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i had massive writer's block but i really wanted to write this so i searched for standrew playlists on spotify and let me tell you guys? big shoutout to bobbyshan10 if they ever see this because their 'was this really worth it?' standrew playlist saved my life and my crops and this fic and also gave me intense fluttery feelings because songs do that sometimes and i love everything about this  
> 2\. I read someone asking for mistletoe + standrew on tumblr so i was like............... well i guess i HAVE to, now, but also I wanted to drag this out LONGER like some kind of fool so....I present THIS MESS to u ;)) ur welcom  
> 3\. A FRIEND OF MINE SENT ME A POST WHEREIN SOMEONE INCLUDED THIS FIC IN THEIR FAVOURITES OF STANDREW AND I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY MY HEART IS BEATING SUPER FAST RN I LOVE YOU ALL WHO READ THIS AND LIKE IT I HOPE THIS CHAPTER DIDN'T RUIN IT FOR YOU I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT IT'S THE LONGEST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC Y E T I'M SO EXCITED BY WHERE THIS IS HEADED HELL YEAH! i love u guys  
> 4\. me rubbing my evil gay hands together: Now........... Don't Kiss!


End file.
